


No Flash Photography Permitted

by orion_is_ours



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Betty is a starlet being held prisoner by the TV show she is in, Core 4 fluff, F/M, Jughead is the nosy photographer, Kevin is a fan boy, Multi, Polyamory, Prisoners, Slow Burn, This was heavily inspired by Comic Con interview's lmao, smut in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orion_is_ours/pseuds/orion_is_ours
Summary: Twenty-one year old Jughead Jones is excited for his first summer gig as a freelance photographer where he'll be taking pictures at Comic Con 2020. There, he meets Elizabeth Cooper, America's sweetheart, a rising starlet who seems familiar in person, despite never meeting her before. She is well known for her role as Evie Knight in a popular teen drama, Shadow Falls. Jughead's world however, turns upside down when he snaps a photo of Elizabeth with flash by accident, and the girl has an unusual reaction, which leads him to a terrifying discovery. Jughead is left with a choice; does he walk away and pretend he didn't see anything, or stay and try and save the girl? He doesn't have much choice, after he's seen as a perfect replacement for a star who has recently killed himself. When Jughead finds himself being pulled into The Sweetheart Project against his will, he quickly realises he's had history with these stars. A history he doesn't remember. And maybe his memories are the key to saving them.or: The polyamory actor AU you probably didn't ask for lmao.





	1. America's Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird fic, but i kinda love it? :D It's my first polyamory one too, so have at it!

In their eyes, I am no longer human. The girl I was before, the girl I can't remember for the life of me, is gone. But as the seconds tick by, oblivion inevitable, I go over what I know. But even that is dwindling. I can almost sense myself seeping away, leaving nothing in my wake. All I know is her name; Betty. Her last name is lost. She is twenty years old, a Gemini. She had a dog called Layla, a sister called Polly. Betty had brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin. That's who I am. At least, that's who I used to be. Now I am nameless. I am now nothing but a slab of meat ready to be processed. They don't want me to be Betty. They want me to be Elizabeth. And I have no choice in the matter. If I did, I wouldn't be here- stuck.

Stuck to a cold metal table, waiting for them to determine who I will become.

Blinking up at two bright lights shining in my eyes, I struggle to hold back tears. Because I'll be punished if I cry. Tears are flaws. Tears are a form of weakness, they said. If I cry I am Betty. Not Elizabeth. So with a heavy heart and a twisting gut, I keep my tears to myself. The steel surface I've been forced onto is cold. I feel it writhing down my naked back, ribbons of ice sliding into my bones, solidifying my blood. I'm so cold. But I can't move. My arms are trapped by my sides, bound to the table with rings of metal, which restricts my torso and ankles. If I could, I would. I would lunge up in a matter of seconds and wriggle off the slaughter table and run for my life. I would run so fast, so far, they would never find me. And when I find what I'm looking for, what they took away from me, stripped from my memory so I am nothing but a blank slate. I would hold onto that something for as long as I could. And I wouldn't let go. Because all I know is that I am Betty, I am a Gemini, I had a dog called Layla, and a sister called Polly.

That's what I hold onto. Because everything else has been taken away. I murmur the words like a mantra, barely moving my lips, so they won't catch me. Betty. Gemini. Layla. Polly. But even what I'm trying to hang onto is dispersing. There's a tumour in my mind, eating away everything in its path, leaving no memory mercy. After several disorienting seconds I struggle to remember- what was it? My dog's name- my sister's name! What are they? Struggling through my foggy thoughts, I battle to keep hold of them and my breath catches in my throat, my chest aches when I am unsuccessful. Betty. My name is all I have left, and I grasp onto the name with all I have. My name is Betty.

Sucking in a deep breath, I blink away colourful prisms pulsing behind my eyelids from the intense golden light bathing my face. But there's no warmth, no relief from the cold. There are two figures looming over me, shadows dancing in the back of my mind. They're dressed head to toe in light blue hospital scrubs and masks, and all I can glimpse are steely grey eyes and thick eyebrows when one of them leans over me, studying me. The other is holding a clipboard, lightly tapping a ballpoint pen against it. "Get rid of this," Eyebrows gruffs. He has a heavy British accent which makes me cringe, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I try not to flinch when he grips hold of my ponytail, strands of chocolate bleeding through his pulsing knuckles.

Eyebrows rags my hair and I bite back a squeak. If I make a noise, I'll be punished. So I keep my mouth shut, despite the stinging pain in my scalp. "I want this turned blonde. Sun kissed," he says, before his gaze travels down my body. I try not to squirm.

"Pen," Eyebrows demands, and Mask nods, producing a red marker. Eyebrows snatches it off him and marks something on my forehead, then my nose and lips. The nib on my skin tickles and I hold back a hysterical burst of laughter. "Her nose is far too pointy," Eyebrows murmurs, before moving the pen to my lips. "And her lips are too thin. Fillers, please. I want work doing here, here, and here." He emphasises his decision with the pen, and I struggle to follow what he means. His pen traces my face like a toddler with a crayon, marking every inch of my face. "Take notes. Look. Here." Another stab.

"Her ears. Too big. I want them smaller. The freckles need to go too. They're far too noticeable." His grip on the pen tightens and the nib sinks deeper into my skin. I wonder if my freckles were ever significant to me. Did I like them? Hate them? I'll never know. "Also, her skin. Make it a lot darker. She is far too pale. God, she looks like she'll burn if she goes out in the sunlight. I want wonderful olive skin, perfectly tanned."

Eyebrows curls his lip, narrowed eyes zeroing on something I can't make out. "Get rid of that," he growls, stabbing the pen into my chin. "Her skin must be perfect, do you hear me? I don't want any moles, spots, or birthmarks. Get rid of it all."

"Uh-huh." Mask nods along with the man's words, scribbling on his clipboard.

"Open your mouth," Eyebrows orders, and I oblige before he gets impatient. Eyebrows hums, pulling out a steel rod and sticking it in my mouth. It clinks against my teeth, and I try not to wince, try not to show that I'm in pain. "Her teeth seem fine. Though we might need a little whitening. Oh, and straighten her two top incisors, they're looking a tad wonky." When he removes the steel rod, I close my mouth and he smiles down at me.

"You need a lot of work done, don't you, sweetheart?"

I don't answer. If I do, I'll scream at him. And if I was free, I'd wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until the breath was choked from his lungs. I would never give him mercy, never give him a chance to explain himself, to sputter senseless apologies.

I would kill him without a second thought.

He moves onto my eyes next, pulling a face. "Ahh, the green doesn't seem like it would catch attention and turn heads. Especially on press days. They're incredibly dull," His forehead creases. "Fuck it, make them blue. The bluest you can without making them unnatural. I want them to shine. You hear me? Everyone loves a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. I want her to look innocent, sweet, and naive. Her colour will be white."

I want, I want, I want. His voice grates on me. He is the one deciding what is done to me, and I have no say in it. My freedom of speech has been taken away, my human rights. I might as well be an animal ready to be slaughtered. Next he observes my breasts and stomach. I hate the way he looks at me, steel eyes widening, lips puckering like I truly am nothing but a piece of meat.

"She has a good curvy figure, but I want breast implants. You can never be too careful. Oh, a tummy tuck. Make sure to note that down." Eyebrows pinches my stomach and I bite my lip against a scream. He chuckles. "I wouldn't say she's fat, but just in case she slips on her diet, I want her figure absolutely perfect." Eyebrows glances at Mask, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes." Mask says, scrawling something down. The sound of the pen scraping against paper makes my stomach turn. Eyebrows nods with a smile. "As for her voice, you know what to do. Just like with the others. I want it smooth and sweet, like silk. Not too high, and god, last time you fucked up with Stella. She sounded like she was on fucking helium."

More intense writing from Mask. "Of course, sir."

Finally, Eyebrows beams. "I think we're done here."

The lights get brighter, and I try not to squeeze my eyes shut against the cruel glare. Eyebrows cocks his head. "Is she empty?" he asks Mask. I shiver at his words. Empty. Like all it took was tipping me upside down and shaking me, so everything I am, or was, drains out of me. "We need her ASAP, Tom. So if you could hurry up the whole process, that would be grand. US weekly is on my ass about this new cast member, and I need her in the limelight as soon as possible. Evie Knight needs to be seen."

Mask nods, though he doesn't look convinced. "It's a slow process, sir," he says. "I think she's still clinging on." His blue eyes almost look sympathetic, though maybe I'm imagining things. I stare up at him blankly. I try and remember my name. Though there's just a cavern of blank nothing in my mind. I try and remember my family and friends, who I was- who I wanted to be. Did I have any aspirations and prospects?

Did I deeply love or hate anyone? I rake my waning mind, but there's nothing. Instead there is a name slowly coming into fruition, no matter how hard I push her down.

Elizabeth.

"She's still fighting," Mask says. "I believe the girl is still lingering. The Neurological Barrier should take effect in a few minutes, it's just taking a while."

Eyebrows folds his arms. "That's a pity," he mutters, before turning and walking away. His footsteps get further and further away, before I hear the sound of a door opening. I don't dare turn my head. "Like I said, Tom. I need her at the earliest by tomorrow. Get it done." The door slams shut and my chest clenches. I'm left alone with his colleague.

Mask, or Tom, nods to himself, and I close my eyes. This time I allow myself to cry, and it feels good, tears dribbling down my cheeks, salting my lips.

"No." The doctor clears his throat and wipes them away with a gloved finger. His touch sends electric shocks down my spine. "Don't do that, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth, I think dizzily. Is that my name? No. The thought comes like a wave, crashing over me. No, it's not my name. Something sharp is inserted into my arm, a prick I barely feel. My head swims, and I try and cry out. But I don't know who I'm crying out for.

There's just blank- nothing.

I don't want to lose myself.

I don't want to be Elizabeth.

I don't want to lose... _him._

The doctor gets to work, flitting around me like an out of control pinball machine, and all I can do is watch him with flickering eyelids as he runs his hands down my body, a slow smile spreading across his lips. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, a frenzied pulse I can't ignore. All at once it's like something has hold of me, phantom hands grasping onto my ankles and yanking me into darkness. I try and fight it, try and keep my heavy eyes open. But all I see is the doctor, his sickening grin as he takes out his pen and marks an X on my stomach. A soft whimper seeps from my lips and I stiffen against the restraints, trying to struggle. The doctor only chuckles, steel eyes glittering.

"Elizabeth Cooper." He strokes my hair, his fingers trailing over my forehead, my cheeks, then my lips. His filthy touch makes my blood boil. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. Instead my scream is inside my head, and it deafens me, crashing against my skull. The girl who they took away is throwing herself against the barrier.

"Don't be scared," he says. My eyes must show fear. I try and hide it, but he's already seen it, already pounced on my vulnerability. His satisfied smile makes my stomach turn.

"Isn't this what you've dreamed? To be a star?"

Not like this, I think feverishly. I don't have memories to look back on. But I couldn't have wanted this. A life of being a doll. A thoughtless, mindless, picture perfect doll.

I feel the doctor's fingers gently closing my eyes for me, and I'm left to stare into the backs of my eyelids, waiting to fall. He sighs. His tone drips pride, and I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to choke him until his eyes have rolled back into his head, until that plastic grin has been carved from his lips. "You will be magnificent."

"No." With growing confidence, I manage to push a cry through numbing lips.

The doctor ignores me.

"A truly perfect role model." He chuckles. "All little girls dream to be princesses, to have their face on the cover of every magazine. To be talked about and loved. They dream to have a fan base and people screaming their name at the tops of their lungs."

I take a breath, my chest tightening. Suddenly it's so hard to breathe, and I struggle to suck in a breath.

Breathe in. Count to ten.

Breathe out.

"Isn't that what you want?"

No. My lips curve around the word, and his answering laugh twists my gut.

"It's far too late to back out, sweetheart."

With his words echoing in my skull, and my own scream reverberating, a relentless cry begging to be heard, trying to force its way through my unresponsive lips, I topple backwards in my own mind. I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff with hungry, tumultuous waves crashing below me, waiting to swallow me up. But there's no anchor to grab onto. My thoughts are being whipped away, it's getting progressively harder to think clearly.

There's a second prick, this time in my wrist. The waves are suddenly towering over, crashing down on me, suffocating me, pulling me down, down, down.

And I have nothing to hold onto.

Nobody to cry out to.

So I fall.

"It's been a year since Jac Hunter's death. The twenty-one year old, who was well known for his role as Noah Price in popular teen drama "Shadow Falls", reportedly took his own life. He was found in his Los Angeles apartment on Thursday, 24 April 2018 by a family friend. His family reported that the young heart-throb had a history of mental illness, and had been battling depression-"

The news report caught Jughead Jones's attention automatically, dragging him from reverie, where he's been listening to the monotonous dull thud of base from a car in the lane next to him. The radio crackled, a low buzz of noise writhing in his ears when the news reporter's voice collapsed into a senseless screeching, ringing in his head. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he reached forward, toying with the dial on his old beaten up stereo. It wasn't surprising that the damn thing barely worked, what with it being an old truck. He twined the dial and the radio flared back to life, the woman's voice seeping back to fruition for a moment, before falling away into hissing static. "-co-star Elizabeth Cooper lead the online campaign to bring the show back, with-"

"God dammit," he grumbled, beating the thing with his fist. But it continued hissing at him, worsening his already sour mood.

Sitting up a little straighter in his seat, Jughead let out a heavy breath. Outside, late morning traffic wound it's way down the road like a great angry snake, tires hissing over steaming concrete. It was far too hot, and Jughead was starting to regret wearing jacket. He could feel it sticking to his clammy back, heat radiating through his seat. Thanks to the humid July heat his sandy blond hair stuck to his scalp, beads of sweat running down his forehead. A quick glimpse in the car mirror make his stomach twist; the guy in his reflection had lips that were curled into a scowl, green eyes glaring back at him, olive skin shining with perspiration. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping to tame the unruly locks he'd managed to straighten earlier that had bounced back into their usual natural frizzy curls in the heat. Jughead bit back a yell, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel. Bad hair days always seem to strike him at the worst times.

Thanks to being stuck in relentless LA traffic for the last half hour, he was a sweaty mess. Which wasn't going to be the greatest impression at his first ever job. He tried not to think about that. It was his first ever gig as a professional photographer for a proper event, and it was Comic Con. Jughead could live out his geek dream while earning money. His dream job. Since dropping out of college, he'd gone freelance, but it turned out to be harder than he thought to live off earning money from his passion.

Then came the job of a lifetime, and he looked like a swamp monster.

Kevin Keller who was sitting in the back, finally looked up from his phone, his eyebrows furrowed. If Jughead had a best friend, Kevin would probably be that person. The two of them had met in college and dropped out at the same time to both pursue photography. Though Kevin hadn't been lucky enough to get the Comic Con gig. Jughead was taking him as a plus one. The brunette had been glued to his phone almost the whole car ride. Though Jughead wasn't surprised. His favourite show was Shadow Falls, and from Jughead's knowledge, the boy was following the cast's every move. Jughead was fairly sure if he managed to crash the car, Kevin still wouldn't look up from his phone.

Though thanks to the news report, Kevin had been yanked him out of his own little world. Ever since one of the main leads of the show had died, Kevin had been caught up in his own little bubble, joining the nation mourning his favourite actor. In the initial weeks when the news broke, Kevin hadn't left his apartment. Jughead had to force him to eat, and it had taken him nearly a week to get a word out of his friend. The news admittedly had been pretty shocking. Jac Hunter didn't exactly strike him as a struggling actor. He was only twenty-one, the same age as Jughead. Though news outlets had reported that he'd been struggling for months before his death.

But there were no signs though. Nothing to suggest Jac Hunter truly was having a hard time. He was compared to other young celebrities who died young because fame had gone to their head, but Jac wasn't exactly Kanye West. He wasn't alive long enough to have a long lasting presence. Kevin had said in the months after his death, cast members had slowly started to come out, talking about unhappy he was. But- Jughead couldn't see it. Jac seemed happy. In every interview Kevin forced him to watch with the whole cast, he was always smiling and cracking jokes. It was too early on in the series for him to be on drugs, or to have some kind of problem. There had only been one season of Shadow Falls, and it was a hit. Though why wouldn't it be? Jughead wasn't an avid watcher of it so he didn't completely understand the story. But it was just another Vampire Diaries, another dark drama centring around a small town, a supernatural presence, and overly attractive kids in their early twenties pretending to be sixteen years olds in high school.

"Wait, are they talking about Shadow Falls?" Kevin's eyes were wide, his lips stretching into an excited grin. A grin Jughead couldn't help rolling his eyes at. "Jug, turn it up!"

Continuing to grapple with the old hunk of junk, Jughead let out a frustrated hiss. "I'm trying! The radio keeps fucking up." Though as soon as the words left his lips, the station was back, still hissing, but coherent enough for both boys to understand.

"-The writer and creator of the show, Felix Moore, told US Weekly that he's currently searching for a new Noah, after fans started a petition online for the show to continue, which reached over one million signatures in just a couple of days. And with Hunter's family's blessing, the search for the new Noah Price begins! I'm Haley Summers and you're listening to Smash Hits Radio! It's a scorcher outside today! And we're bringing you all the biggest hits including Katy Perry's new one! Coming up next!"

"No thanks," Jughead muttered, quickly switching the station, though an equally irritating pop song burst through the speakers. He didn't switch it again, turning his gaze to the road ahead, blinking in the sun's cruel gaze. It sat in a perfect blue sky like an unspoiled egg yolk.

At the corner of his eye, Kevin was still sitting bolt upright in his seat, his eyebrows furrowed. Jughead frowned. He nodded his head to the song halfheartedly, his fingers tapping a frenzied beat on the steering wheel. Signs for the convention were popping up already, and a coil of nerves began to unravel in his gut.

Kevin was still quiet. Jughead glanced in the mirror. "You okay?"

The boy blinked, shaking his head of brown curls. "Yeah, I was just thinking about Shadow Falls."

Jughead snorted. "When are you not thinking about that show?" he smirked, and Kevin kicked his seat.

"Hey, what do you expect? They're actually bringing it back! Oh my god, when Asher, Stella, Evie, and Noah come back on screen, I'm going to freak out!"

"Why though?" he couldn't help asking. "Don't you think it'll be weird without Jac?"

Kevin shrugged. "Yeah, it'll be different. But if they find the perfect replacement, he can carry on Jac's legacy." The boy chuckled. "How about you?"

"Don't bother." Jughead rolled his eyes. "We've had this conversation before, I look nothing like him."

"Are you kidding? You're perfect! You could easily pull off a brooding, narcissistic loner."

"Sure."

Kevin's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I saw a tweet that they're considering Shawn Mendes. Like, the literal Shawn Mendes! In Shadow Falls!"

"Is he even an actor?"

"Yeah! Well, he was an extra on “The 100” for like an episode where he played piano, but I count that as acting." Kevin pressed his face against the back window, eagerly looking outside. "Holy shit, look how many people are here!"

He wasn't wrong. There were hundreds of people polluting the streets, and Jughead had to be careful, navigating through both traffic and pedestrians. He glanced at the time on his dashboard; 12:05. The event started at half past. He had to be there for quarter past to get photos on the red carpet, and then shots of fans meeting cast members.

Jughead sucked in a breath, following the plume of traffic and teenage girls. He didn't need Google Maps when they were leading him straight to the front entrance. There was a separate way for staff, but Jughead had been told as long as he wore his STAFF lanyard, he could get in right away. He idly played with the tag around his neck. It displayed his name, department, and a shitty photo of him glaring at the camera.

Jughead searched for a parking spot, landing one quickly, sidling neatly between a black Sedan and a coach. He switched off the engine, the pop song screeching through hissing static cutting off abruptly. A throbbing pain had started to crawl across the back of his head. "Jug!" Kevin was pounding on the window, his expression lit up with excitement. Jughead forced his best smile, his stomach cartwheeling. He hopped out the truck quickly, straightening his jacket the best he could. He ran a hand through his hair again, smoothing down his plaid shirt and righting his lanyard so it sat over his chest. He'd spotted journalists amidst the crowds of people all looking smart, wearing casual jeans and T-shirts. Jughead wore a plaid shirt and jeans with a Levi's jacket wrapped around, which was his version of smart. He just hoped it was good enough for their standards.

Kevin was grinning at him as he slipped his camera over his neck, his fingers sliding through the thick grey ribbon. It was an old fashioned Canon, and his baby. It had been a present from his late father for his seventeenth birthday. It was only a year later when FP Jones had been slammed off the road by a drunk driver. Since then Jughead had mostly lived independently. His mother had left when he was twelve and took his little sister, so it was just Jughead, his camera, Kevin, and a hell of a lot of counselling.

"How do I look?" Jughead tried to smile but it fell flat when he remembered his hair was a tousled, sweaty mess sticking to his forehead.

"Like a modern James Dean," Kevin replied. "Honestly Jug, if you weren't straight, I'd ask you out on a date."

Jughead rolled his eyes, but couldn't resist a laugh. Admittedly, he wasn't sure of his sexuality. He liked girls, but there were a few guys he'd had crushes on over the years. Kevin was a huge one. Especially in college. "You flatter me, Keller."

The two of them headed inside, joining herds of people pushing into each other. The event was held in the Los Angeles Convention Centre, a monster of a building made entirely of glass. It was oblong shaped, and when Jughead looked up, the glare of the sun reflected off the checker-board windows, blinding him. There were several automatic doors blocked by barriers where people were queuing. Panic struck him for a moment, before he saw a group of journalists happily showing off their staff tags.

Kevin was practically vibrating with elation next to him. He stood on his tiptoes, straining to see any famous faces beyond the doors. Jughead grabbed his arm and dragged him past the queue, trying to ignore the complaints from fans. He quickly flashed his lanyard at a security guard, pulling Kevin along with him, and was nodded inside. They were ushered into the foyer, and Jughead couldn't keep the grin off his face. He didn't think that would work, and now they were inside, and holy shit, this was happening.

Jughead pulled out the letter he'd received, granting him his staff lanyard and instructions. They were laid out for him in bullet points. His heart was pounding in his chest and he had to keep licking his lips. He really needed a drink. Holy shit, this was it. He was actually going to be photographing television stars. "Okay." He peered at the map, trying not to act like Kevin and unleash his inner fanboy. But the hyperactive cacophony of chat and laughter was pushing his anxieties away, making way for an almost dizzying excitement. Plus, Jughead was 99.9% sure he had glimpsed the familiar glimmer of sun kissed curls flash in the crowd. A blink and you'll miss it moment. Kevin had showed him enough cast interviews on YouTube for him to know who it was.

Elizabeth Cooper was known for her role as Evie Knight in Shadow Falls. But also - her hair. It had every girl across the world wanting to desperately copy her lush, bouncy blonde curls. Elizabeth Cooper was on the front of every teen magazine, every Vogue; huge blue eyes following him along the LA strip. it was hard not to notice her. Even if he was sure every picture he'd seen of her was photo-shopped, because nobody could be that perfect. Though despite that, Jughead had developed a small crush on her during Kevin's initial obsession with the show. She was hyperactive in interviews and seemed like a down to earth, sweet girl.

Elizabeth was there, and then gone, whisked away in a glimmer of glitter. When the screams started up, Jughead knew he was right. "Kev!" he yelled over the excited squeals, but his friend was already jumping up and down, trying to get a glimpse of the girl.

"Did you see her?" Kevin was breathless. "Did you see Elizabeth?"

"Yeah," he replied, attempting to keep his own inner fanboy low-key.

"I think I saw, like, a glimpse of her hair. It was glorious."

If Kevin could detect his sarcasm, he didn't react. The boy was in his element. Jughead was rolling his eyes at the boy, smirking, before he felt a tap on his back.

Turning around, he was surprised to see a flustered teenage girl with long red hair. It took him a moment to realise she was cosplaying as one of the Shadow Falls characters. But the girl wasn't smiling, her eyes were wide, lips gaping.

"Oh my god, you- you look just like him," she said, before someone grabbed and pulled her away. Jughead was left feeling shaken.

Kevin watched her go, before shrugging with a smile. "She's right." His eyes glittered. "From the right angle, you do look like Noah."

No I don't. Jughead's cheeks burned. Noah had dark hair. Though admittedly, he could see his resemblance- slightly- with the character.

It wasn't hard to reach the main hall where autographs and meet ups were taking place, and when Kevin let out an audible yell, Jughead followed his gaze, and then frantic pointing finger. He could just about make out the poster for Shadow Falls looming over twitching heads. The mass of people crowding the room resembled cockroaches, falling over each other to get to their desired line. Though even the lines were frenzied, guards in bright green struggling to keep order. Teenage girls would fight tooth and nail to see their favourites, and if they had to fight their way to the front, they would.

According to his schedule, Jughead was supposed to start in Hall M where he was now, and move around, gradually weaving through the Stranger Things panel, followed by The Originals, Doctor Who and Sabrina The Teenage Witch. That would take him back to the main entrance. He took a deep breath. Here goes.

"Kev, I'm gonna go get some pictures!" He had to yell again over the relentless screeching, which was starting to collapse into white noise in his ears. Jughead winced. Kevin nodded eagerly, giving him a thumbs up.

"You've got this, Jones!" Kevin looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

"Dude." He couldn't resist a laugh. "Go and stalk the Shadow Falls cast."

"Seriously?" Kevin's eyes widened. "I thought you wanted me to tail you!"

Jughead folded his arms, cocking a brow. "Do you seriously want to go around with me taking pictures of fans when you could be talking to Archie Andrews and Elizabeth Cooper?"

The boy didn't answer, only grinned wildly before hurrying off. Jughead took a breath. Cool it, Jones, he thought. He plastered a professional smile on his lips before heading towards the press section. There were hundreds of photographers snapping photos, and when Jughead joined them, he realised something was - off. There were no flashes. Which seemed ridiculous at a press event. He was almost used to seeing the familiar flashes when he watched these kind of events on TV. Flash photography was a given. With growing confidence he politely tapped a pretty girl with dark skin and long silky hair, on the shoulder. She looked around his age, most likely a freelancer like him. When she turned, she was already smiling. The girl was using her phone as a camera and eyed his Canon like it was a severed baby head, her bright green eyes flashed with amusement. When Jughead glanced at her tag, the name "Josie McCoy" was in bold capitals.

"Yeah?"

Jughead smiled back. He leaned closer to her so she could hear him, and caught a whiff of sweet vanilla. "Where are the flashes?"

"What?" Josie laughed, and Jughead's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Before he could stammer some kind of explanation, the girl nodded in understanding. "Oh! You mean the cameras? Yeah, we're not allowed to use flash photography," she yelled back.

"Really?" He couldn't help laughing. "Why?"

"No idea!" The girl rolled her eyes. "Look around you. They're pretty strict about it."

Jughead followed the girl's gaze, and she was right. All around him, there were pretty intrusive posters stapled to boards bearing the words: "NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY."

"Huh," he murmured. But the matter didn't linger in his mind for long as he lost himself taking pictures.

He snapped shots of cast members when they came out, waving at the crowd, and the girls screaming at them. Then when the others moved forward and began to spread out independently, he went straight to the meetup section, hoping he'd spot Kevin. But it was impossible to find anyone in the writhing crowd. He ended up spending an hour snapping photos of fans meeting the cast, before he spotted Josie who had managed to get up close and personal with the Shadow Falls writers. She was inches from the Shadows Fall kids, snapping photos. Jughead felt his chest tighten at the thought of meeting a star. But it was his job, right? Before he could hesitate or stop himself he shoved his way through the crowd. But a security guard quickly got in his face.

"Line up, kid." The man was mostly bald, cheeks crimson, probably from fighting over-eager teenage girls.

Jughead shook his head. "I'm staff," he said, swallowing the urge to add; "And I'm not a kid."

The man rolled his eyes before stepping away, and waved him passed the barrier. Suddenly he was overwhelmed. The cast were right in front of him. Archie Andrews, the star responsible for Asher Michelson oozed confidence and charm. He was much taller in person, that mop of curly red hair which drove Kevin crazy, contrasting perfect pale skin. The boy's signature colour was white, and damn, he knew how to flaunt it. Archie wore a loose white shirt and black pants. So simple, yet he turned every head in his vicinity.

The boy was gorgeous, Jughead had to admit. He found himself starstruck, his gaze stuck on the redhead. A girl jumped into Archie's arms, squealing, and he hugged her with a grin. Cute. Jughead lifted his camera, ready to snap a photo. His finger hovered over the capture button, but seeing Archie in person, and being so close to the boy, something was coiling in his stomach and he wasn't sure what it was. Jughead shook his head, trying again. But there was something about Archie's sparkling smile that made him feel strange.

Lowering his camera, Jughead took a stumbling step forwards, momentarily losing his balance.

His breath shook as he attempted another photo, but every time he tried to, he couldn't. There was something about the boy's grin, brown eyes staring straight into his lens, a plastic smile that sent his heart racing. Jughead gave up after several tries. He swiped at his forehead with his sleeve. It was the heat, it must be. But he didn't linger around Archie, moving to the other cast members. There was something prickling in his gut, a long suppressed thought dancing in the back of his head. Jughead knew what it was automatically.

Familiarity. But not just that. Everybody in the room recognised him, of course they did. He was Archie Andrews for god sake, who didn't know him? But this was different. This was the kind of recognition that hits you when you see an old friend, or a neighbour- a kid from childhood. That was the type of familiarity that crashed over him. But how? How could he know a nationwide television star?

He didn't, Jughead decided. The heat was getting to his head, and he'd barely eaten or drank anything. To distract himself, he captured photos of the others, his mind picking out their characters in the show. Veronica Lodge, who was Stella Gomez and Reggie Mantle, who played Ryan Poser. They were nice enough, laughing along with fans who chatted animatedly with them. He barely took notice of the actors, his head in a daze trying to figure out how the hell he could know Archie Andrews. That was when someone nudged him, rather violently.

"Are you press?" a short blonde woman was suddenly shouting in his face, and he managed to nod. "Right! Can you get some close ups of Elizabeth by the wall?" When Jughead blinked at her, the woman sighed. "Just over there, by the curtain! We need close ups!"

"What?" Jughead was still stumbling over his words when he realised Elizabeth Cooper was being ushered towards him. And he lost his breath. She was exactly like she was on the covers of magazines. She resembled an angel, wearing a long silver dress that clung to her figure, perfect pale skin and a crown of gold curls spilling down her back. Elizabeth smiled brightly at him, striding towards him in her heels. The exact same blue eyes that teased him through magazine covers were blinking at him. Jughead remembered thinking her eyes couldn't be that blue. But they really were; Her eyes were the colour of a newly bloomed bluebell from the valley, enchanting, delicate. Sweet and innocent.

Though now the girl was standing directly in front of him with starry eyes and a glittering smile, he couldn't resist having that same feeling he'd had with Archie. It spread through him, an unwelcome burst of unease tightening his chest. No, he thought strictly, wanting to scream at himself. No, there was absolutely no goddamn way-

"Hi!" Elizabeth cut off his thoughts, giggling nervously. "Sorry about Jess." She inclined her head to the woman who had yelled in his face. "She's on a tight schedule."

When Jughead didn't reply, the girl cocked her head, a strand of gold straying in dazzling violet eyes. "Is here okay?"

"I- what?" Jughead managed to shake off the discomfort, though it was still there, dormant. He snapped out of it, forcing a smile. But he couldn't stop staring at her, his gaze subconsciously searching for something that wasn't there. There was nothing on her face that he'd be looking for, so why couldn't he stop staring at her?

Act professional and freak out later, he told himself. Taking a deep breath, he smiled brightly at Elizabeth.

"No, by the curtain is fine." He nodded at her and she smiled in agreement, following him to the wall by the curtain. Jughead took a few shaky steps back and lifted his camera. Elizabeth smiled directly at him, and something in his gut lurched, bile burning the back of his throat. He snapped the photo quickly to get it over with, but when the familiar blur of white light flashed, he realised his mistake. Something seemed to abruptly change in her demeanour. Her smile disappeared and she blinked twice before staring forwards in a daze, and maybe Jughead really did have heat stroke, but he could have sworn the girl's eyes dilated before flickering to a bright, vivid forest green "Oh." Jughead let out a soft breath. "Sorry about that. I- I'm not supposed to use flash."

He looked up to apologise further, but the girl had stumbled back behind the curtain, her arms shooting up to shield her eyes.

Shit, had he blinded her?

"Hey, sorry about that!" Jughead cursed. But Elizabeth didn't come back. Panic shot through him. Oh fuck. He was following her behind the curtain before he could think logically, finding himself in a backstage sort of setup, covered in boxes, props and cardboard cut-outs of characters. "Elizabeth?" he started to call her name, before he spotted the girl sitting in a pool of silk and glitter on the floor. Her pale shoulders were bouncing up and down and at first he thought she was laughing, but when the girl looked up, Jughead's head swam dizzily. The girl was crying, tears streaking down her cheeks. Her eyes were wild, lips twisted almost ferally at him as if he was about to attack her.

When he started forwards, her eyes widened almost comically, her mouth popping open in a mute cry.

Jughead held his breath.

"I- I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered. But Elizabeth shook her head, her lips mouthing words that weren't hitting the sound barrier. Which seemed crazy, because the girl was speaking just minutes ago and laughing. Now she was a hysterical explosion of gold, glitter and tears, tearing at the dress clinging to her frame. Her lips were curled with disgust, eyes burning with fear, pain, anger-

Elizabeth mouthed something to him and her eyes widened, her pale, slender fingers going to graze over her throat, before more tears trickled down her cheeks. She raked her fingernails down her face, screaming mutely.

No! she was mouthing, stumbling around, trying to- find something. When her hands finally grasped what looked like a piece of reflective paper, she stared at herself before dropping it abruptly.

"Elizabeth." He could barely breathe, watching the actress lose herself, tearing at her hair until strands were sticking to her fingernails. She was glaring down at tufts of it, pawing at her herself, staring wide-eyed. Before her eyes found him.

Elizabeth's mouth moved to form words, and Jughead wasn't good at reading lips, but he could make out her words.

Help me. She was saying it over and over again, stumbling around, disoriented. Every time she grabbed at her dress she tried to tear at it. He attempted to follow her, staggering back when she turned and snarled silently at him.

"What's wrong?" he managed to get out. "I- I'm sorry, I don't understand what's happening."

She stabbed at her throat with her fingernail, her bottom lip trembling.

"You can't speak?" Jughead watched her, his feet now glued to the floor.

He couldn't move. His voice was shaking, and after a moment she nodded solemnly.

"Should I call someone?"

An exorcist? He thought, slightly hysterically.

No! her lips screamed, eyes widening frantically.

Jughead nodded, pulling out a notepad and pen.

Stay calm, he told himself. But Jughead was so close to freaking out just like her.

"Okay then, uh- oh fuck, do you want to write it down?"

Elizabeth nodded, snatching the pad and pen.

But before she could write anything, a voice startled him, ice slipping down his spine at the curl of a British accent.

A man peered in, frowning at the two of them. Jughead recognised him as one of the writers; a small, stocky guy in his mid forties brandishing a suit and dark curly hair sticking out from underneath a baseball cap. Elizabeth straightened up, her green eyes clouding with terror when she saw the man, and Jughead's heart started stampeding. She swiped at her eyes quickly, attempting to smile. But she didn't look like the celebrity starlet who had starstruck him earlier. She just looked like a terrified girl. The smile she was known for was none-existent, as well as her glittering blue eyes.

Instead they were green, and Jughead realised he preferred the colour they were now; irises the same color as the ocean on a stormy day, green with tinges of blue, grey and silver.

The guy cocked his head, an amused smile on his lips. "Ever thought of taking up acting? You look exactly like the kind of kid we're scouting for our Noah."

Jughead was speechless. A glance at Elizabeth, and the girl looked like she was going to lose it once again. Her expression was enough to tell him everything he needed to know. She didn't move, staying stock still. But her eyes screamed at him to run.

"I'm good." he managed. "I can't act for shit."

The man seemed to study him for way longer than he'd deem necessary. "Talent isn't exactly a factor we're looking for, young man. We have professionals in the business who can easily train you to be TV material."

What? Since when?

"I said I'm good."

"Right. Well, if you change your mind, feel free to talk to any of my people today. Tell them Felix sent you."

Jughead nodded. "If I change my mind, I'll make sure to tell you." he said stiffly.

Felix grinned. "Sweet. Now, you should get going. Elizabeth has a schedule she has to keep."

Jughead opened his mouth to speak, but he was suddenly rendered speechless like the girl.

What did he say? Did he demand why the girl couldn't speak?

"Thanks for the autograph." he said shakily, and the girl nodded, fashioning a smile on her lips, before handing him the pad back and following the man back out into the hall. She didn't look back, and when Jughead watched her go, he noticed a stumble in her step. She could barely walk, struggling in heels she had walked so effortlessly in earlier. It was like he was looking at a completely different girl.

When she was gone, Jughead let out a strangled breath. He slipped back through the curtain, back into the bustling crowd, stumbling clumsily. His throat was burning, nausea twisting his gut. There was a tinny ringing in his ears and his heart was galloping. Jughead stared down at the notepad, his gaze stuck to Elizabeth's messy handwriting on the front page. He was seeing things again, he tried to tell himself. But there was no way that whole experience could be some heat stroke induced illusion. Elizabeth Cooper, the girl he'd had several fantasies over through the years had broken down in a hysterical fit, lost her voice, and mutely cried out to him.

He blinked at the girl's scrawled handwriting.

It wasn't an autograph, though he didn't expect it to be. Instead, the girl had written in capital letters;

NOT ELIZABETH.

Before, in writing he could barely decipher; SWEETHEART.

Kevin. Jughead thought manically, lifting his gaze and scanning for his friend. Kevin would know what to do. Before he consciously knew what he was doing, Jughead was starting forwards, his head starting to spin. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. Kev knew the Shadows Falls cast better than his own family, he'd know what was wrong. Surely.

"Kevin?" he cupped his mouth, yelling over the loud buzz of chat. But the boy was nowhere to be seen. "Kevin, hey!"

He was ready to call for his friend again, when a warm hand slid over his mouth, strong arms wrapping themselves around his waist and yanking him backwards. In a moment of terror and confusion, Jughead forgot how to scream. Instead, all that came out of his mouth was a startled yelp. He felt the silky brush of the curtain sweep over his face, before he started struggling violently. "Let me go!" he screamed into his attacker's hand, and to his surprise- they did, quickly retracting their hand.

After righting himself, Jughead looked up to see none other than Archie Andrews standing in front of him. And for the second time that day, Jughead was starstruck. But it only lasted a few seconds when he caught the boy's expression. Archie wasn't smiling. His red hair was a sweaty mess stuck to a perspired forehead, his brown eyes wide, lips curled into a scowl. The boy had an expression eerily similar to Elizabeth's - terror.

Before Jughead could speak, Archie, the literal TV star Archie Andrews, grabbed him by his collar before shoving him against the back wall, knocking the breath out of him. "Jug," the boy spluttered, and it took Jughead a few seconds to realise the actor was saying his name like he knew him. Like they knew each other. Archie was red faced, his eyes filling with tears, his voice a strained cry. "Jug?" he gasped out, tightening his grip. The boy blinked, as if to make sure he wasn't seeing things, and Jughead felt the bottom fall out of him. He could only stare back, baffled by the boy's words.

"Jug, what the hell happened?" Archie demanded in a hiss of breath. "Where am I? What- what happened to you?" he let go of Jughead abruptly, tearing at his hair, before his eyes darkened. Taking steps back, Jughead turned to run. To get away from the crazy asshole, but Archie grabbed him again, brown eyes wild. "You got away," the boy breathed, his fingernails biting into the flesh of Jughead's neck. Before he could reply, Archie shocked him with a hysterical laugh, which quickly collapsed into a sob. He stared back at the boy, trying hard not to scream. "Holy fucking shit, you got away, didn't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! I have part 2 almost edited, are you guys still reading? Hopefully you still are, I can’t wait to get chapters 2 out! :D


	3. Chapter 3

_this is late, but is anyone still reading?_

sorry for the delay, i got caught up in other fics. If you guys are still reading, let me know! <3 


	4. Jac.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jac Hunter escaped. 
> 
> But did he really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feels good to write this again! enjoy! :)

* * *

I don't know who I am. 

But I do know who I was.

Jughead Jones. That's who I was.

The feeling of something sharp being inserted into the back of my head brings me to slight awareness, tearing me from a dream where I was free. Where we were free.

The "we" however, is already fading. They take your loved ones first. Your friends and family. So I'm not surprised I have trouble reaching for names, trying to match them to blurred out faces. Voices are all around me, but I pay no attention to them. They murmur about which parts of me will be changed, and which parts will be discarded.

The best thing to do is block them out. Other wise I will freak out. I will scream until my throat is raw. I wish I could stay in the sweet blanket of slumber, unaware and oblivious of what is happening to me. I did think, for several hopeful seconds, that they would take mercy on me. They would take my mind without me knowing. Without me feeling it. I remember being dragged from my cell and drugged. I remember being slammed down onto a hospital gurney and gagged with enough duct tape to suffocate me. But soon enough, the tape was replaced with an oxygen mask, and I was left to the dark. Which I was grateful for. The naive part of me thought that was it. Except they want me conscious.

I was willing to forget who I am, forget them, forget everything- if they emptied me while I was in oblivion. And I would drift away, unknowing of my fate. 

It's a merciful death. At least for my mind. 

But I should have been more vigilant. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. 

"Ah, one of our final transformations. Open your eyes, boy." 

The British accent sends my heart into my throat, fresh panic starting to ignite inside me. But I can't move. I can't speak. I can't breathe. My eyes sting with tears that are warm, refreshing from the cold. Though a gloved finger quickly swipes them away. Tears are for the weak, they said. If I cry, I am not who I'm supposed to be. Jughead Jones is the weak one. That's what they told me. I refuse to believe it. They want to change me, to turn me into someone else. But I will hold onto Jughead Jones for as long as possible, until the remnants of him disperse, and I'm left a shell. Ready to be filled with a new identity. I can sense him looming over me, shadows in the backs of my eyelids. 

"What did I tell you about crying, hmm?" The voice is triumphant, and I want to scream. I want to reach out and choke the breath out of him. Opening my mouth, I try to scream. But my throat is dry. Please. The words choke me, my lungs straining for oxygen. Please don't. Not when I'm awake. Please. Though how could I think they would do anything but? The process brings them joy, I know that. So why wouldn't they keep me awake? 

I keep my eyes squeezed shut. No more tears come. 

"Neurological Barrier in place, sir," a voice sounds out. It sounds like it's coming from a walkie talkie, riddled with static. "Commencing emptying stage two in five...four..."

My eyes fly open. I start to scream, start to cry out and protest. But I know there is no point. My body is already theirs. The mechanical voice scrapes my ears, drilling into my brain. I can't escape it. I can't escape my fate, and the voice doesn't stop. I have no way to block it out. All I can do is try and hold on. Try and hold onto who I am, before I become someone else. Keeping my gaze on the ceiling, I struggle through the surge of dizziness which comes like a wave. I was told what it would feel like, but I still can't help let out a sharp gasp. I can't cry out. I know if I do, I'll be punished. 

So I stay silent, clinging to myself. 

Jughead Jones. 

My name is Jughead Jones.

I'm nineteen years old. 

I have a brother. 

A best friend. 

And...and her. 

There are others. But I can't reach that far. I mentally stretch out for the blurs of colour, faces and expression's that meant something to me. With them come aromas; the scent of Summer. Flowers. Roses and daisies and daffodils, their phantom smells choking me. I see cherry pink lips and mocha coloured hair flowing in a ponytail. A smile that makes my heart ache. Her hand reaches out, fingers lacing through mine. I feel her tugging me, and her hair flies behind her, a dark halo framing eyes, a shade of green that was a mixture of the sky and grass. All of her emotions bundled into deep cyan.

But her name is lost. I can feel her physically being pulled away, segments of her in my memory, fragments and shattered bits of her. They're bleeding away down a plug hole, and I can't get them back. I can't get her back. Flailing, I struggle to hold onto the rest of me. Another face flashes; eyes the color of espresso, rich with reddish brown flecks, a wide smile that lights up his whole face. With the bleeding images of him, the smell of autumn leaves crushed on the ground, stale Axe spray and cinnamon. Freckles dance across pale cheeks. There's something significant about them, but when I try and reach further, I'm yanked back violently. Except they're so vivid. Just like the girl's eyes. Her cherry pink lips and the halo of chocolate hair framing a heart shaped face. 

I wonder why my mind goes into so much detail. Is that a part of me that is lost? Was I creative? Did I have an aspiration to draw or write? I'll never know. His face, like hers, is barely graspable. It's like looking through a foggy mirror. There are small things I manage to glimpse, quickly snapping grasp of them before they fade away. 

Except I can't hold onto them.

Instead of focusing on my mind, I snap back to my physical state. 

"Emptying in progress."

My name is Jughead Jones.

The name is on my lips, but I stay silent, keeping it curled on my tongue. Jughead Jones. 

I’m naked on a steel slab. I’m nothing more than a chunk of beef. Meat to be sliced and chopped and turned into something usable. All off-cuts will be discarded. The spike in the back of my head digs deeper and there is pain. But I embrace it. It's something to feel, to anchor me to reality, to my name. My identity. My name is Jughead Jones.

My arms and legs are bound to the table, encircled by freezing stainless steel bands. The bands pinch at my wrists and ankles, pulling at the strands of hair they trapped when they snapped shut. Above me are two circles of white light. A man wearing a surgeon’s mask advances toward me holding a black marker. He places the tip of the pen right on my hairline, then scrapes it across my skin, all the way down to the middle of my eyebrows. I blink rapidly and lick my dry lips. The sensation tickles, and I have to grit my teeth to stop a hysterical laugh trickling out. Mask chuckles. It takes me several disorienting seconds to realise he's talking to another figure next to him. Mask's companion wears a pair of thick black spectacles that sit on the edge of his nose. 

The two of them are dressed in pale green hospital scrubs and gowns. They eye me greedily, their gazes glued to my body.

I can't help envying them. I am exposed. Naked and splayed out like I'm nothing. I half wonder, through foggy thoughts, if I was ever self conscious of my body. Part of me wishes for an ignition of embarrassment warming my cheeks or a lick of anxiety in my gut. Did I ever try and cover up, in fear of what I looked like? Was I physically attractive, and if I was- did anyone love me? Did anyone love this body- the one that's going to be changed forever? Everything I ever felt, any emotion or memory connecting to fears and passions. Anything I liked and disliked. Anyone I loved or hated. All of it. Gone.

Leaving me a blank slate with wavering memories. My name is still here. My age. Nineteen. But the rest of me is disappearing fast. With morbid curiosity I can't help looking up, straining against the coils of metal keeping me glued to the metal surface. My bare back slides on stainless steel as I struggle to catch a glimpse of myself. The first thing is I'm tan. Olive skin shimmering perspiration stretches out in front of me. The operating table fits my height. Seeing myself- the body that is rightfully mine- the one they're going to transform into perfection - only incites more panic. My chest squeezes and I blink up at the two surgeons, my lips popping open and closed like a goldfish. 

But no sound comes out. All I can do is rasp, a pathetic attempt at words slipping from my lips. Both of them lean closer, like I'm a science experiment. 

"Fascinating." Mask murmurs, moving closer to me. I curl my lip in disgust. Disgust. At least I can feel that. I still feel fear towards these bastards.

"He's trying to hold on."

The other surgeon shrugs. His eyebrows are bushy, framing his glasses. Red hair pokes from a light blue surgical cap. "They all try and hold on, Mr Moore. This one appears to be strong, however."

"Indeed." Mask hums. "Right! Lets get started. I see you've already began the process of emptying."

"Yes, Mr Moore. It will take time, however. You know what happened with Reggie and Elisabeth."

Mask rolls his eyes. "But they turned out wonderful. Have you seen the amount of hype we had for the show once we made the casting news public? They're shining stars."

Glasses must be grinning under his mask. "And what exactly do you want with this one, hmm?" 

Mask tilts his head to the side, inspecting my face. He reaches forward and grabs my bangs. I bite back a cry, glaring at him. The needle in my head jolts slightly, and a fresh dose of agony floods my skull. “We’ll change his hair. And his eyes. I want him to be a brooding loner type, y'know? Black hair. As black as you can get it. Oh, and green eyes. We nee him to be a heartthrob like Asher. But while Asher is our boy next door, Noah will be the opposite. Off screen too, of course. With Archie and Jac."

That name sends shivers sliding down my spine. 

Jac. That's who they want me to be. 

Mask's eyes narrow.

"There won't be any problems like last time, right? I've been told his brain is finally stable enough to empty. We were walking on thin ice having him conscious in the public eye. I wanted him changed with the others. If he was, we wouldn't have had problems."

"Yes, he is stable. You saw it before, Mr Moore. Emptying wasn't possible."

"Yes, he made a fool out of us." the man tuts. "Right in front of a crowd, too! I had to do some serious damage control. We need him blank, Tom. I'm not going through that again. Our dear Archie was alienated. His re-emptying is scheduled for tonight."

The man's words confuse me, but I can sense memories trying to push through. I'm shading my eyes from bright flashes, and I'm screaming. I'm screaming words I can't remember. There are faces in front of me; a crowd of them staring back at me, lips gaping. 

"Help!" The word is on my lips, the memory splintering through. "Please help me!"

There's someone next to me. A stranger. She's small and petite with silver hair tied into a ponytail. "I'm so sorry," she's forcing a laugh. "Jac isn't feeling well today..."

Blinking rapidly, I mentally claw for the rest of the memory. But as quick as it comes, it's gone, seeping down the plughole. All that's left is the other name. 

Archie. 

I cling onto it. Even if it means nothing. 

"Yes, sir." the voice brings me back to reality. I exhale through my nose, careful not to move, attracting attention.

"Right. Now. Pay attention to what I need doing."

While Mask speaks, he gets to work drawing on my face, prodding and poking my cheeks with pudgy fingers. I flinch when the nib of his marker pierces my nose. "This." He lets out a harsh chuckle. "I want you to note this down, so you know every little detail of what I want doing. Because this is going to be a lengthy process. I need beauty, not whatever this is." he grabs and rags my hair. "And, God, this is just the start! How on earth did we have the guts to put him in front of an audience? They were probably laughing at him!"

I should be offended, or at least upset at his words. But I feel nothing. All I can do is stare up at him, begging him with my eyes to let me go. 

To give me my mind back. 

My name back.

My...my friends back.

He lets out a hissed breath. "I thought you said these kids were ready!"

"They are, sir! Not all of them are in great shape, but that of course is what The Sweetheart Project is for." Glasses chuckles lightly. "You saw Stella's before and after, did you not?"

"She's a beauty. You better hope and pray that you can do the same with this little runt."

"No need to worry, Mr Moore. The boy will be transformed."

"He better be. I want Noah Fucking Price. Played by Jac Hunter. A heartthrob. The boy on every teenage girl's wall. Not Oliver Twist."

"Of course, sir." Glasses pulls out what looks like an iPad, along with a mechanical pen. "Go ahead. I'm ready to take notes."

“This,” Mask says as he makes a fist, gripping a few small strands of my hair. His hand lifts up, and my chest rises up with him until my bonds stop me. He keeps pulling until the hair rips out. I drop back down, squirming in agony. “Needs to go.” 

His gloved fingers are forcing my lips apart, pressing down on my gums. "His teeth are fine. Though we might need some whitening."

"Of course." Glasses murmurs, thin fingers playing with his glasses.

"His nose." Mask growls. He stabs the pen between my eyebrows, dragging it down and circling both of my nostrils. "I want it smaller. See, here. Cut away the excess. I want it as small as possible, without making it button." he snarls. "God, just get rid of most of it. I can't fucking stand looking at it. How dare you even bring him in front of me!"

"Sir-"

"Did you starve him during stage one? His eyes look practically sunken!"

"Sir, we can remove flaws-"

"These aren't just flaws! This boy is quite a piece of work! Okay, here. I want this removed. All of this. God, the spots! Remove them. I want flawless skin, like our dear Asher. I want cheek implants. A defined jaw. Much more tanned skin..." he turns to the surgeon impatiently. "Are you getting all this down? His ears! Make them even. I want fillers in his lips, and- Oh. Oh, my." he gets in my face, and I can smell his breath. Garlic. My mouth waters. The only thing I taste in the back of my throat is stale vomit.

I swallow thickly when Mask attacks my right eye with the pen. "His eyes! Get rid of the blue. It makes me nauseous. Like I said earlier, I want you to make them Green. Almost unnatural green. Sea-foam, Tom. I want his eyes the colour of sea-foam," he's practically salivating now, beady eyes taking all of me in, lips twitching in excitement. "His colour will be navy blue and crisp white. Ah, yes. I'm seeing the colour scheme now! It's the perfect fit."

"Got it. Crisp white and navy blue." Glasses eagerly scribbles on his iPad.

Mask stabs me again. This time I do cry out. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I can't stop them. "Please." I manage to splutter words. My own voice shocks me. It's gravelly and low, almost a moan. My thoughts and memories continue to bleed away, and the only ones who can give me mercy stand before me, planning what they're going to do with my off-cuts. How they're going to turn me into the ideal perfect boy. At least in their eyes.

The perfect star. 

Jacc Hunter. 

"Stop. Please."

They both ignore me. Mask turns to Glasses. "If I don't get sea-foam eyes, scrap him. I believe his eyes will be one of his main attributes. The rest of him can be transformed, sure. But his eyes must shine. They will be what will draw the attention."

Stab. Stab. Stab. The marker continues to poke my skin, drawing and circling and scrawling over my flesh. The ink stings. Mask drags the nib across my forehead, and then my scalp. "All of this. I want waves and curls. Maybe we can give him some kind of hat? That's what girls like these days, right? Perhaps a beanie is in order."

Glasses nods enthusiastically. "That sounds magnificent." he scrawls down notes, and I follow the rapid direction of the pen. "Now. His bottom half?"

Mask jabs me in the gut. My body bends forward, but the bonds catch me and snap me back into place. “Other than the mess of flaws that is his face, he’s in fine physical condition. His muscles are of adequate definition to create arousal.” 

Should I be flattered? I can't help squirming when he drags his finger across my stomach. 

I strain my eyes to keep watching him. Like looking at him is going to stop him. I know he'll never feel sympathy for me. But I want the bastard to know that I hate him. I want them to know that, if I ever get free, I will kill them without a second thought. 

Glasses speaks up. "Uh, what about his... bottom...bottom half?"

Mask turns to the man. Even with his surgical covering on, I can still see he's fuming. "Elaborate, Tom."

“What about his …” Glasses looks down at my crotch.

“Are you a child? Are you talking about his penis?”

"Yes."

Mask hums. "Well, what's your observation? Do you really think we need to worry about things like that? Will he be stripping off at public events?"

The sarcasm is almost laughable. Glasses clears his throat. "Well, no. I was just-"

"You were just what? Do you think this is a joke?"

"No! No, of course not. I apologise."

Mask nods and takes a step back. "You know what I want doing. Now get it done. I need him at the earliest by tomorrow night, do you understand me? I want to see Noah Price. If I don't? the boy will be scrapped, and you and your team will be dealt with. 

What a shame that would be, I can't help think. I think about saying it out loud, but decide against it. I don't want my last self aware moment being in agony. 

Glasses nods so much I wonder if he's going to give himself whiplash. "You won't be disappointed, Mr Moore."

Mask turns and walks away. I hear the door open. "I should hope not, Tom. You're a good surgeon. I expect perfection. Start with the eyes."

The door slams shut, and the second Mask is gone, Glasses- or Tom- peers close, eyes twinkling. "Oh, don't look so glum!" He puts on his own mask, his voice is teasing. The man still has the marker pen. He stabs it into the centre of my forehead. "You're going to be a star! Aren't you excited, hmm? Doesn't everyone want to be a star?"

"Fuck you." I spit. Then with growing confidence, when I feel the sharp prick of a needle being inserted into my wrist. "Get your hands off me!" 

Tom chuckles under the mask. "You are fighting the brain drain, young man. The Neurological Barrier isn't something you can stop. Trust me, the best thing to do is let go." his eyes glow brighter with glee. "That is what I told Elizabeth, after all.

Something twinges in my chest. "Elizabeth." I repeat the name, and tears are dampening my cheeks once more. I know the girl in my memories is Elizabeth. But I can't reach her. Straining against the metal restraints, I let out a soft cry. "Where is she?"

Tom pulls back his mask for a moment and shoots me a "wouldn't you like to know" grin, before snapping it back in place. The doctor grabs a big white machine I'd been eyeing warily since I woke up, with both hands and pushes it into position above my right eye. I can't breathe. The contraption is all silver, all blades. I can only blink back at it, swallowing the screech building in my throat. Then, with his smile obvious in the pinch of his mask and the twinkle in his eyes, Tom places a mask over my nose and mouth.

I try to pull away, but his grip is harsh. He presses the mask harder, and I choke out a cough. Tom cocks his head. "This won't send you to sleep, but it will slow down your brain's response. The Neurological Barrier should take effect when you've had a few gasps of this."

No. I shake my head, but he only laughs. "Boy, do not fight this. What else do you have, hmm?" Tom pulls away his mask and mocks a pout. "Can you even remember your name? Or are you too far gone?"

Glaring back at him, I force my sloppy mind into fruition. "Jughead." I say through my teeth. The mask muffles my voice. "Jughead..." wincing, I blink rapidly, but my second name is lost. I know what it is... I know it! However, just like everything else, it slips away. My eyes must darken, a telltale sign of my vastly plummeting memories. 

Tom nods. "That's right." he gives me a patronising pat. "Just let go, son."

He heads to the machine, and I tense. Though he hasn't turned the gas on yet. Instead, he switches on the machine, and it powers up, flashing a sickly green. 

"Doctor Howard." the mechanical voice from earlier, the one dancing on the static, sounds out. I flail manically, struggling to sit up. "What percentage is the emptying?"

Tom pulls off his mask. "Around thirty percent," he replies. "He's fighting, sir."

"I see." a pause. "Is the boy restrained?"

"Of course. He is conscious and disoriented. The emptying process is slow, since right now, he appears to be stronger than the Neurological Barrier."

"Good. I need to see you regarding an urgent matter. You are not contracted to leave your post normally, but this is important."

"I... uh..." Tom jumps into action, nodding. He shuts off the machine before leaping over to my bed. I feel his fingers prodding at the back of my head, making sure the needle is secure. "I'll be right there." when the static cuts off, the doctor turns to me, eyes narrowed. "I'll be right back." he spits. "I'd suggest letting go, young man." he shoots me one last spiteful smile. "Your friends had no problem letting go."

Another twinge. This time it's in my gut. Bile crawls up my throat. Once again, I struggle to reach for cherry pink lips and warm brown hair framing shamrock eyes.

It's all a blur, and it takes everything inside me, all my self control, not to cry. 

He's gone before I can think of a reply, the door shutting behind him. When I'm alone, I allow myself a single breath of relief before tears sting my eyes. My body relaxes slightly, and I let my head fall against cold metal. I wonder if I'm going to forget how to breathe. It feels like that right now. My lungs feel starved of oxygen, sucking in desperate gasps every time my chest inflates. My head throbs from the pressure of the needle stuck into my skull. Letting out a cry, I manage to sit up, a fresh wave of panic setting my heart on fire. I need to get out. More tears fall for my friends, who are fading fast. I can't bring them back, and the worst thing is, I don't know who I want to reach out for. Their names are entangled on my tongue, alphabet soup in my throat. 

With growing frustration, I tug violently at my restraints, a cry ripping from my throat. Except with every pull, every shriek choking my lungs, I can feel what the doctor said. The emptying process is growing stronger, and I'm getting progressively more weaker. 

Jughead. My name is Jughead Jones. My name is JUGHEAD JONES. 

Another painful jerk, I'm squirming, panting, trying to bolt off of the metal slab. It's a race against time. My mouth fills with bile and I cry out. But who to? Do I have parents? Siblings? With the knowledge that I don't know, that I'll never know, and I've had that taken from me, I wrench at the metal coils pinning me down. Then, when a metallic clang rattles my ears, I try again when the restraints loosen slightly. With them less constrict, I manage to slip one wrist free. I squeeze my lips together, muffling a shout of victory. With my free hand I wrench the other from the restraints and try and sit up, but am immediately yanked back down. The shriek of pain in the back of my head reminds me of the needle still sticking into my skull. The idea of pulling it out makes my stomach roll. But I'm so close. I don't think. I don't hesitate. Before I can second guess myself, I'm grabbing it, tightening my hold and wrenching it from where it's buried deep. Pretending I don't feel the blade sliding through skin and bone, blood coursing in hot streaks down the back of my neck, I let it fall from my clammy fingers. 

Panting into harsh plastic, I yank off the oxygen mask and suck in precious gasps of air.

I don't have time to assess the wound. I don't have time to see if I'm bleeding out. What I concentrate is on the fact that it's gone. Whatever has been draining me away, stealing my memories, everything that is me. Or the boy I used to be. Jughead Jones, who I'm still desperately clinging onto. But I know the damage is already done. My shaking hands work quickly, undoing the restraints around my ankles, and I'm throwing my legs off of the bed, tumbling to the floor. My legs are weak, but I force myself to stay on my feet, a fresh dose of adrenaline keeping me going. After a panicked search for something to wear, I find a white shirt and a pair of jeans. The material is soft and silky. I can tell it's expensive. My fingers pinch at the rough denim of the jeans. There's a sticky note on the bundle, scrawled in red biro: DRESS HIM IN THIS. WHITE/BLUE WILL BE HIS COLOUR, 

Scoffing, I pull on clothes. No sign of underwear, but I'll take anything I can get. The jeans feel uncomfortable, but part of me is relieved. Part of me remembers I haven't worn jeans in so long. When I twist around to grab something to defend myself, my head swims, my eyes blurring, vision feathering. There's a medical cabinet full of bandages, but I don't have time. I grab a light pink towel instead, wrapping it around my head. 

I leave the room quickly, stumbling onto a bleached white corridor. The lights are blinding, doors sweeping parallel to each other, labelled 1-20.

Exit. I need to find the exit. Though the doctor's words resurface in my mind. Friends. I shake my head, blinking rapidly, raking my mind for any glimpses of them. 

Except there's nothing. I can't see them anymore. Any flickers of them...gone.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, my hand pressed to my makeshift towel bandage still wrapped around my head, I power walk down the winding hall, cringing at the sensation of cold marble slithering between my bare toes. There's a glass double door at the end, but inching closer to it, the door practically screaming EXIT is not what grabs my attention. Quickening my stride, I find myself breaking into a stumbled run, but despite the tears once again streaming down my cheeks, chest aching, I don't know why my body has this reaction. At the back of my mind, however, something is cracking open.

There's a gurney similar to mine, stationed next to a door labelled OPERATING THEATRE 2. But it's not empty. There's a boy splayed out on it, strapped down with velcro instead of metal. He's wearing cotton blue pants, but no shirt. His none-existent abs are covered in black marker, circling excess fat and cellulite. My rabbit like heart stampedes in my chest. The closer I get to him, he's clearer in both my vision and mind; dark curls contrasting pale skin, and when I squint, his eyes staring blankly back at me are mocha coloured. But I'm not focusing on his eyes. Instead, my gaze is on his cheeks and nose and forehead, where someone has scrawled over his skin, like a hyperactive child with finger paint. The ink is red, arrows pointing to his nose and lips, bloated bubbles circling freckles adorning cheeks. And that's when the fog clears, and I let out a sob. 

Except I don't know who I'm sobbing for.

"You." Is all I can say softly. His name is lost, but I know his freckles. I know his eyes and hair. The boy cocks his head to the side. He has a docile look in his expression, and then I catch sight of the needles sticking in his arms.

"Jug?" He croaks, trying to sit up. He knows my name. The name I'm trying so hard to hold onto. Foggy eyes widen and he blinks. There's something metal stuck to his jaw, and he struggles to speak through it. "Jughead, is that you?"

All I can do is nod. His voice breaks around my name, and it's then that I know he is someone important; one of the colourful blurs in my mind.

"You." I say again, spluttering it like a child.

"Yeah. Me." He lets out a harsh laugh. "You got away." his smile is soft, and a part of me shatters for all these lost memories of this boy. They took him away. They took the girl with green eyes and a sweet smile who smelled of flowers. "Did they empty you?"

I know the answer. Everything is fading, and it's taking all of my willpower to stay awake and cling onto what I have left. "Sort of." Is all I can say back, and his expression darkens. "What...what did you do to your head?"

"I'm fine." I sputter, pressing pressure on the towel. I try to ignore that it's spattered with my blood.

"Jug, you need to run." he says. "Find Betty, and get the hell out of here. Do you hear me?" he tries to sit up further, speaking through his teeth. 

Betty. The girl's name rings bells in my mind, but there's nothing to grab. "Betty?"

Something flashes in his eyes. Pain. "She's..." he trails off, shaking his head. "She's trapped here like us. Listen to me, okay? You need to find her."

"What about you?" Looking at him, all I want to do is brush my hand over the imperfections marked all over his face, tracing his freckles with my fingers. I wonder if I've done it before. Or at least if Jughead Jones did. Tracing them like dot-to-dot.

He drops his head, relaxing in the velcro ties. "I'll find a way out." His smile is reassuring, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just remember Betty. You have to remember her. Jug?" he urges me, but I'm finding it hard to concentrate on his words. 

"Betty." I manage to choke out. "Right. Got it." I hold onto her name like it's liquid gold, willing it not to slip away. Before I can stop myself, I'm rushing forwards, reaching out to untie him, with a rush of vigour. He jolts away with a quiet whimper, brown eyes creasing. "Focus on Betty. I'll be right behind you. I promise."

I know he's lying, but I nod, stepping away, tears trailing down my cheeks. They feel good. Genuine. "I'll remember you."

I won't. His name is unreachable. Everything about him is dwindling. But my body still reacts to his smile, the crease between his eyebrows when he's confused, and the cock of his head, the freckles adorning his cheeks. Those are the pieces I know. And I'll cradle them until everything is gone. My expression must tell him that. He nods, mocha browns sparkling with tears. "I know. Now find Betty and run, Jug. Before they come back."

"Betty. Right. Betty." I say her name like a mantra, keeping hold of my makeshift bandage. Turning away from him, I start to run. Every door is locked. 

Betty. 

Betty. 

Betty.

"Betty." her name slips from my lips, when my brain refuses to cling on. I'm panting for breath, sobbing her name, choking on it, holding on. But the pull is strong, trying to forcibly yank her away. "Betty." I pound on each door with my fists. I remember her, I tell myself. I remember her smile. Her eyes. Her halo hair. The mole that sat on her nose, the one I teased. I remember her. I remember her. I remember her. I remember her pulling me through a crowd, except the smile is gone, and in its place is a silent cry, eyes wide with fright. She's looking at something behind me, mouthing words I can't-

I can't...

No. Tearing at my hair I grit my teeth, willing the memory to stay.

Betty. 

I remem... I remember her. 

...

...

...

...Pausing on the fourth door down, my hands are wrapped around the metal handle, trying to tug it open. The desperation is still alive inside of me, the tears choking my throat and burning on my cheeks. But when I try and remember why...why I'm here...

What am I...what am I doing? 

My hands fall away from the handle. 

I'm crying. Why am I crying? 

All I know is that I need to get out. 

I... I need to get out. 

The exit is right in front of me, and I'm staggering towards it, bloody fingers pulling it open. There's a male shout startling me to awareness. "Jug!"

The voice is a stranger. I ignore it, forcing myself through the door, and out into a pitch black night. Something cold slithers down my back and face, soaking through my t-shirt. But it's refreshing. So good, I almost want to dance around in it.

Rain. 

I'm on what looks like a college campus, the building itself towering over me, oblong shaped and made entirely of glass. I'm barefoot, my feet sinking into soaking concrete. The skies above open up, but I'm thankful. It's a startling relief from the inside. For a moment, I allow myself a breath, and go through what I know. They were going to take my mind, and I escaped. I escaped, but I can still feel myself dissipating. 

Jughead Jones dissipating. 

I'm near a main road. Cars fly past, and I wonder how truly insane I look, if someone was to squint through the foggy storm. My surroundings are unfamiliar, though I detect city lights in the distance. There's a field of grass separating the campus from the road. If I start waving my arms, nobody will see me. Especially in the storm. Starting forwards drunkenly, I drag one foot in front of the other. But I'm too weak to run. My hand gingerly scrapes the towel bandage still wrapped around my head, and my fingers come away scarlet. 

"Gotcha!"

Rough hands are suddenly grabbing my shoulders and I bite back a yell, trying to fight my assailant. But they're much stronger, pinning my arms behind my back. I hiss out, struggling, but they tighten their grip. When I'm twisted around to face them, there's a guy with brown curls glued to his forehead from the rain wearing a pair of ray-bans reflecting my bambi-like expression. He pushes the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, revealing amused eyes shining in the headlights of a passing car. He's grinning, adorned in a black leather jacket and tight jeans. "Look at the state of you! Jac, what were you thinking?"

I bite back a whine, squirming in his arms. "Get your hands off me!"

"Keller, did you catch him?" a voice screeches through prickling static. With one arm keeping me restrained, the guy, or "Keller" reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a talkie. "Got him, sir. It wasn't exactly hard to grab him, he can barely walk."

"Wonderful. You know what to do." a pause. " I want Noah Price by next July. You've got a year, assuming we can even pull off a cover up. Make it happen."

Keller laughed. "I still think you're insane, but sure." He grapples with me, forcing me to my knees. I hit the soaking asphalt with a hiss. Keller peers down at me, cocking his head. "He's not fully empty yet, sir." his eyes glint. "little fucker's still holding on."

"Do what you must." the voice mutters.

"Affirmative." Keller's voice almost sounds mocking. He kneels in front of me, still with that unnerving smile stretched across his lips. I can only peer at him, shivering in the bitter cold. "I'm going to use a little trick to fasten the process."

I can barely comprehend his words before something pricks me. His voice is a hiss in my ear, sending shivers rocketing down my spine. "You're going to listen to everything I say from now on, mkay? We're best friends. We've known each other since college, and we do everything together." his grip constricts. "You and me to the end, alright? Jug?"

His words make no sense to me, and yet I'm letting them seep inside, poisoning me slowly.

"Leh..let me go." I slur. My legs start to weaken, and I feel myself falling forwards, and his arms, that are surprisingly warm, cradle me like I'm a child. My head drops, and I can't lift it. I'm too weak. His voice slithers into my ears, a low chuckle.

"Stop thinking, Jac."

"No!" the word is barely a panting breath escaping my lips, before...

Before....

A wave crashes over me. Cold and icy, pulling me into impossible depths, drowning my thoughts, and the screams building at the back of my throat.

Keller's grip loosens slightly, and his voice echoes, bouncing in the back of my mind. Even when I fight it, when I try and push through memories that matter, his voice is a parasite, leaching itself to me. So much louder. Until it's all I can hear. 

My lips are numb. I can't cry out. 

I can't fight him off...

I...

* * *

"Jughead?" 

Blinking rapidly, I frown at the boy sitting in front of me. He's on his knees, light green eyes wide. He's wearing leather. My eyes flick up and down his torso, drinking him in dizzily. There's a prick in my arm, the sensation of something sharp. But before I can chase the thought, it's fading quickly. The boy reaches out and grabs my shoulders, shaking me. My stomach flips over. "Oh fuck, thank god you're okay. Can you move?"

I'm kneeling too. It's raining. I'm soaking wet but I don't know where I am. The sky is black above me, oblivion pooling. "What?" my voice is a croak, and my hand automatically goes to the back of my head. Pain spikes and I jerk my hand away, biting back a cry. 

"What happened?" I mutter, frowning at the boy. "Who..."

"Who am I?" the boy looks offended. He blinks at me though dark curls sticking to his forehead. He, like me, is sopping. "Kevin Keller, of course! Your best friend! Jug, look, you're pretty beaten up. Some idiot totalled our car and you passed out!" Before I can react, he's reaching forwards and swiping my hair out of my eyes. "We were pretty lucky." his lips stretch into a playful grin. "That's the last time you pick what we do on a Saturday night."

Right. That makes sense. I nod, squinting at him through feathered vision. 

Kevin. My best friend. 

Staring dumbly at him, I shake my head, biting back a moan. "But where's the...the car?"

Kevin grabs my arms and helps me to unsteady feet. "Don't worry about that right now, okay? We're going to call a cab and get your head looked at. You hit it bad, man."

"Mmmm." I stagger against him. That would explain the pain. "My head is fucking killing."

He laughs, wrapping his arm around me. "Take it easy Jug, alright?"

I nod. My body is aching, but Kevin keeps me steady. He pulls out his phone, and I shiver, taking a moment to drink in my surroundings. "where are we?"

"Hmm? Oh right, I don't know? I think it's a community college. We crashed a few blocks away, but I couldn't get signal. You've been in and out of consciousness."

"You're not hurt." I cock my brow. 

"I was in the back, obvs. I just have mild whiplash."

That sounds about right...

"Are...are you alright?" my lungs swell at the thought of Kevin being hurt. "You should get checked out too."

Kevin rolls his eyes. "Relax, I'm good. It's you that needs medical help."

"But-" I open my mouth to protest, but his gaze flicks back to his phone.

"Yes, hello! Can we get a cab from..." Kevin's voice trails off when he walks a few meters away, presumably talking to a cab driver. I frown at my clothes; a white shirt and jeans sticking to my flesh. My head still hurts. Once again I reach to brush my fingers across the back of my skull gingerly, when Kevin grabs my arm, urging me towards him. 

"Cab's coming in five." he clears his throat. "Don't think about your head wound. Don't even touch it." 

His words envelope me like warm water, and I drop my hand, nodding. "Of course."

"Great!" He grins, pulling me into a hug, and I find comfort in him. We've been close for so long. Kevin tightens his grip around me. "God, I'm so glad you're okay, Jug."

* * *

preview for the next part. 

_When Jughead didn't speak, Archie blew out a breath, warm browns searching his. "You dont know me." he said softly. "I get that, Jug. But you need to trust me."_

_Jughead thought about telling him to fuck off, but clearly the actor was on something. He wondered if Jac Hunter's death involved drugs. Which meant his co-stars must have been dabbling in it. "Sure." he spat, struggling in the boy's grasp. "It's not like you're giving me a fucking choice."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making Kevin bad in my fics is becoming a habit lmao. 
> 
> Leave kudos if you liked, and tell me what you think! I haven't updated this since April (?) so please let me know if you're reading, so i can write more <3 i have around 1.5k written for the next chapter, so im estimating that to be up either tomorrow or Tuesday <3

**Author's Note:**

> So how do Archie and Jug know each other? Why is Betty mute? Is Kevin going to freak out when he sees Jug hanging out with his fave celebs? ;) Leave kudos and tell me what you think to find out! :D


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